


red your blood

by Ryo Hoshi (Hoshi_Ryo)



Series: Rise Up [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Dark, Dentistry, Genital Torture, Mental Dissociation, Other, Pliers, Rape Aftermath, Torture, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-15
Updated: 2012-08-15
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:38:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshi_Ryo/pseuds/Ryo%20Hoshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karkat's a bit temporally unstuck, mentally, and really needs his moirail, or death. Rescue was not what he expected.</p>
<p>Set between the first and second chapter of <i>chances are</i>, with overlaps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	red your blood

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Karkat is not a happy camper. With flashbacks to torture of various flavors.
> 
> This was written because of a comment on _chances are_ saying the rescue ought to have more detail. I do pay attention, and will write missing scenes and bits of backstory, if I can figure out whose PoV it works from. It was also written over approximately 8 hours, most of them with a migraine.

He was _very_ careful not to shift as he woke at the noise of people coming in. Eyes better designed for the weak light—at least half the light panels in the ceiling were out, the rest flickering and the room wasn't that big. The wire noose would tighten enough to strangle him before he got halfway to the closest three walls, maybe a third of the way to the fourth, and certainly nowhere near the door to the tunnel that led to the loading dock and getting the fuck out of there alive.

He could also, maybe, manage to strangle himself or get the wire to cut something _important_ if he could jerk hard enough and work up the fucking courage to put his shitty self out of his misery. It'd not be easy, not without use of his hands (though maybe he could tug hard enough to bleed out that way? still he lacked even the courage for that) but it'd work better than letting himself slump down to the floor had.

But he was too much of a shitty specimen of a troll to manage that. Fuck, he was so shitty he hadn't even gotten to bite them with his fangs even if they were shitty fangs—

_—and he could still feel the pliers shoved between his lips, Fuckwad A holding his head still for Fuckwad B, fingers digging into the joint to force his jaws to stay open, the flavor of metal/blood/mechanics on his tongue as the other two males watched and made obscene jokes about how they weren't going to want those anywhere near their dicks—_

—and fuck his life.

He'd heard the sound of movement in the loading dock, and after the quick mental fuck—he remembered that King Shit (the ringleader of this bunch of fuckups) had invited the last people who visited in, offered them use of him, and just sat back and watched, while Prince Pail-sloshover watched from the door that lead deeper, where it was dark enough that human eyes wouldn't notice him there, fondling his bulge as he watched.

He wasn't sure how many humans were there; he knew he'd seen all four of the males but they bullied their females into staying in hiding, deep inside and fuck these pale monkey things were _assholes_. Couldn't even manage a halfassed kismesissitude right, not with him—fuck, what sort of rot-panned morons thought it was romantic to maim and pass around and lend out—

He didn't think that their women were getting any better a romance. Screams for mercy were not entirely out of place in kismesissitude, though it was a sign it was time to back off because you'd seriously fucked up; screams for help belonged in neither redrom nor blackrom. The one he'd seen looked like she'd been outright beaten, like somebody with a think pan stuffed full of shit had thought it was alright to keep griefing even with…

Fuck _fuck **fuck**_ he knew enough of English and these fuckers well enough to know what King Shit was saying—not entirely literally, but the holes where there were words he'd not learned yet were easily enough filled in. Come on in, have some refreshments and a bit of rest before you go, want to fuck our sex toy of a troll, we've gotten him so fucking used to alien bone bulges shoved into his nook—

_—and the first time had been so fucking confusing, he had not even realized what the fuck it was quite, too much panic to think about freaky alien anatomy, they'd just shoved fingers into his nook and made him so horribly fucking happy that they were pathetic pale monkeys because claws twisting into there would have hurt even worse and there would have been his mutant red blood everywhere and fuck these assholes would have found that hilarious, and then suddenly something even larger still was being forced inside and they had just laughed as his back arched in pain and he screamed—_

The two guests were looking at him, now. The tall pale-haired one's eyes were hidden behind strange pointy sunglasses, and his expression was unreadable though at least it didn't look like he was at all interested. The one with a proper hair color, shorter than his pale-haired companion, was looking at him with…pity…?

Fuck it. Who'd pity a pathetic maimed—

_—he hadn't really understood what the fuck they were planning until the sharp knife was slipping inside his bone bulge, sliding between layers of flesh to brush over sensitive skin, normally protected, twisting to cut upwards and through and away, world fading into bright pain then black—_

—mess of a troll who was obviously cullbait?

…if it wasn't that pants would probably hurt—fuck, the thought of moving his legs had only been tolerable when he had been fucking stupid enough to think he could actually get the fucking hell out of there, the raw edges and still-sensitive skin of what was left of…

The dark-haired visiting human was now definitely looking at him with pity. His friend seemed to pick up on it, his expression didn't change but his words to King Shit were (falsely) friendly, faster than Karkat could follow quite but King Shit was willing to signal to his backup in smug reassurance the visitors wouldn't know the door to Deeper Still in the Shithive was no longer guarded, to fetch some sort of shitty human soda that, for reasons only known to these fucking aliens, was called after the color and not the flavor.

Except Karkat felt pretty sure that Pointy Sunglasses knew that it was now just King Shit, and Pitying was quietly moving towards him, trusting his friend (moirail? fucking humans and their 'only flushed is romance' shit) to provide the distraction—correctly, Karkat could tell even if he didn't think these humans could see in this dim light. King Shit didn't give a fuck if the lights were maintained so they weren't, he'd be glad that King Shit thought feeding the toy troll _was_ important except that meant he stayed a living breathing pail for their pleasure and fuck it he…

Careful, deep breaths, ignore the slight slipping feel of cracked (broken?) rib(s?) and stay calm. Maybe Pitying was going to do the decent thing and fucking cull him already.

He could hope, right? Flushed serendipity could go fuck itself, as much as he would once loved to have a matesprit (oh, gog, he hoped his moirail had thought to send Terezi a message, told her that he'd been culled and she could and should find some troll worth her pity, turned out that the old trope of pining after a long-lost matesprit 'til the drones culled you just wasn't fucking romantic when you were the fucking long-lost matesprit) he was not sure he could take any concupiscent relationships soon, maybe never.

Even if it was with another troll, the thought of…

Pitying moved quietly for a human, and carefully, and his expression when he got a better look at….then it shifted, focused. Pitying had deft fingers, a tool tucked between three long fingers in one hand. When he reached up, Karkat carefully shifted to add to slack on the wire leash (noose) and watched as Pitying wrapped fingers around a section. Pitying got a loop of slack and hooked it dexterously over one of the tool's jaws before squeezing it.

Karkat tensed for the sound of wire that never came, Pitying resting his shoulder so Karkat could half-collapse, and fuck Pitying was strong or maybe he'd just lost enough weight because he could tell that Pitying took it without effort, just a slight bit of shifting adjustment and a cautious slide of an arm around his waist—gentle, not wanting to cause him to panic and thank fucking gog and jegus and fuck even Gamzee's merciful messiahs that he was too apathetic to fight.

Of course, fate had to shove her finger up his dry, already-battered nook and twist.

The noise he made was utterly and completely pathetic for somebody who just got hit hard by a bunch of pissed-off subjuggulators projecting. He tried to let himself drift into what once would have been a wonderful redrom fantasy, a personalized version of _Wherein a Highblood Goes on a Rampage to Make the Trolls who Improperly Culled his Moirail Pay, ect._ , but fuck that shit his think pan was too busy with the raw instinctive terror of chucklevoodoos being splashed around everywhere indiscriminately. Fuck why since the damn humans couldn't be gotten directly—their minds were too fucking different for it to do anything more than let them know, and any troll whose think pan worked right figured it out fast.

The struggling just added a heaping helping more of fresh steaming insult to the insult sundae. A little sooner and it'd have solved his problem of being too pathetic and cowardly (fuck and he can't apologize to Tavros for calling him the most cowardly troll ever, when it was _him_ , he's the most fucking pathetic wretch of a cowardly troll to have ever hatched) to find what it'd take to get that damn wire to finally kill him, he'd have done it in blind mindless terror…

…except with how easily Pitying was keeping hold of him it seemed like he was too damn pathetic even for _that_.

Pointy Sunglasses moved fucking _fast_ , even if he'd not had the chucklevoodoos fucking his think pan like King Shit & Friends had been—no no don't think of that not right now (oh gog he couldn't manage to scream anymore had the wired fucked his throat was he going to be able to talk anymore not like he wasn't cullbait anyway)—he didn't think he'd have been able to follow his movements. He'd reached the door before Pitying even though he'd been farther away and just kicked it out of the way—was there the sound of shattering wood? hard to tell with the sound of his bloodpusher in his ears drowning everything in the white noise of blood flowing, moving—and oh fucking yay King Shit was bringing up the rear like an afterthought and of course he was too pathetic to have been held prisoner by any bunch of fuckers who were led by somebody who could even manage to look like he had a fucking clue how to use his shitty weapon…

…fuck. Alright, Pitying was strong, Karkat knew pretty fucking well that not many trolls could manage to swing the hammer he'd just _grabbed_ , one-handed, from the back of their vehicle (thank fuck that these aliens hadn't gotten strife specibi yet) and swung hard enough to dent subjuggulator's think pan.

And.

Fuck.

Gamzee.

Was.

There.

Whatthefuckwasohyesfuckhimheofcoursehadthebestmoiraileverandhedidnotfuckingdeservehim.

(Aside from being one of the few other trolls he'd ever known who might be able to pull off what Pitying just had.)

Karkat braced himself—chucklevoodoo-induced hallucinations graphically painting on the inside of his eyelids _Gamzee attacking Pitying swinging his club just slightly too slow, purple blood splattering everywhere human blood splattering—_ before it sunk through the fucked-up shit-in-a-blender mess that was the inside of his think pan right then/there that Gamzee had recognized him, after Pitying had somehow managed to block his first swing, and…still was full of pale pity for him…

He opened his eyes in time to see Gamzee _twist_ midswing, club going from 'vaguely at King Shit' (fuck he would have so enjoyed seeing the contents of King Shit's think pan splattered everywhere and wow King Shit got out here beside Pitying?) to 'putting a fucking deadly dent in the think pan of another subjuggulator' faster than Karkat could follow, maybe as fast as Pointy Sunglasses moved, and King Shit got a foot in the back shoving him towards…

…and Karkat was glad he was facing backwards because he'd have otherwise never gotten to see the inside of King Shit's head even if the vault-leap-scramble- _pull_ Pitying and Gamzee were managing with the sort of perfect synchronicity that only being free of any thought behind the movements aside from moving towards the human vehicle at the end of the loading dock could produce. Fuck, it was the little things in life and he could die a bit happier now.

He let himself slump a little, letting the sound of battle wash over him, not paying too much attention to the pair swinging hammer or club at any fucking moron stupid enough to get his shit too close to the human vehicle while Pointy Sunglasses worked something up front that made no fucking sense, just like all the other human vehicles, and there was the strange roar and vibration of whatever they used to propel their shit starting up and Pointy Sunglasses doing whatever it was that made it go _fast_ fuck it was weird but he did not _care_ as long as Away From Base Shithole was the direction.

Adrenaline dropping as they hit Outside of Melee Range, Pitying slipped down to sit, between the rear gate and the secured crates, half-tossing Gamzee a blanket made out of one of those weird human fabrics. It was warm, though, even if it was a weird mottled white-and-grays thing, and Karkat was fine with having Gamzee pull him a little closer, wrapping it he would feel nice and warm and safe (could even maybe pretend the engine's roar was just Gamzee's purr from really fucking close) and it worked.

Good Gamzee, best moirail…

Karkat relaxed, carefully, warily. Gamzee smelled of himself, and he knew his highblooded moirail could be trusted to keep him safe. Didn't even fucking matter if Gamzee decided to just cull him, he trusted he'd do it nice and clean, and fuck, Karkat was past giving a shit.

Warm, safe and oh fuck he felt like he was a grub again, even if his hazy grub memories were more of delicious grubloaf absolutely smothered in grubsauce (fuck that would be so comforting except that needed teeth though grubsauce could be just plain drunk) and stuffing his face full—he had been a fat happy grub, fat enough that he actually had vestigial grub legs—and absolutely never feeling like he had decided like he had tried to grind his bone bulge against a pile of knives with something shoved up his nook and waste chute just for extra bonus points on the self-abuse scoreboard. He was pretty certain he had never really needed to test to see if he was one of those unlucky trolls whose fangs didn't grow back, even with how little he could remember clearly of the time he was relatively certain that they had been chased off by his screes ('I am Karkat, hear me roar') and never made him test how effective his fangs were against other grubs.

Fuck. If he could get the chance to tell his past self just how seriously he was going to fuck his shit up, to just take his scythe and cut himself open so all the tubes inside would spill out onto the snow instead of being so fucking rot-panned to try to make a heroic last stand like he was some sort of worthwhile example of a troll instead of just so fucking low he fell off the hemospectrum.

He felt so fucking horribly pathetic.

**Author's Note:**

> Of course Dirk loaded up the sled before going in. He will have Lil' Cal stare into your soul with his scary puppet eyes when you absolutely least expect to have a puppet soullessly staring if you think he'd be so naïve to not get business done first with these assholes.
> 
> He has also been quite careful to never drink or eat much while there, simply because he doesn't trust them. It's a good thing, too, since they've had a loose plan for a while. "1. Get that fine piece of ass to pass out. 2. ??? 3. Profit!" Geniuses, they're not.


End file.
